This all, not even to mention the cumulative regrets that Time had brought- not regrets in the sense of things done or not done- but in the sense of the great many things failed. I had lived enough lives to be able to somehow miserably fuck up each one, despite no lack in my willingness to grow in longsuffering and steadfastness. The conditions that each lifetime had brought with it had often seemed to far outweigh the fleeting glimmers of hope that would appear and disappear just as quickly on my path to the next painful lesson.
I had once perhaps caught passing sight of “love”, but she was ever taken- both literally and metaphorically- by the plague. Another couple lifetimes later and I would find her again in a seemingly familiar face; only to again lose what little ever seemed to even temporarily illuminate my irrevocably dark, weary soul. I wondered if she had ever felt that I could have done the same, had Time and cruelty not separated us and had not otherwise agony held my heart and soul hostage- from even myself.
Living was injuriously cruel but I had seen enough to know that it was so to most everyone- though a mystery how the most wicked so frequently seemed to get theirs only upon their dying breath.
I knew I was no exception in the department of continual suffering in the lesser darkness of hell. Hell was real I knew- I had been there far too many times to forget- but never knew precisely if at all or how intimately other humans were truly acquainted with its lingering taste here. I could only marvel at their ability to appear or carry on as though they did not carry hell within themselves as I did- an ever present unwelcomed preview of the place I feared to next be trapped when I finally passed on from mortal chain.
But it’s promises had bred a wordless terror in my mind that ever stared back at me. I lived running from what had begun to dwell in my own skull. It grew by the lifetime and by the year, the burden of a pain and panic so great That I was inconsolable and occasionally driven to insanity. Yet I had found that there was no escape by blood, bullet, nor arsenic.
A part of me wished to know that I was not alone in the things I saw and felt of a sadistic evil. A part of me had once selfishly longed that someone should see through my eyes and feel through my skin; yet the undying- albeit thinned- cord of a scarlet compassion would wish such terrors on no one; much less for the foolish pleasure of company. I had borne this burden alone and I knew I would until I could carry it to the gates of a one who could explain such suffering. Though I had never yet heard of such a man.
Yet day and night I accused myself in my best efforts. I must surely be doing something wrong-so unforgivably wrong- to be and to feel so very much; so very cursed and alone in a world invariably full of people suffering in their own ways as I. Yet there was a divide I could not cross. There must surely be a lesson that I have continually failed to learn with every effort of increasing longevity- and thusly I have ever remained on the chess board over which a god must be laughing. Foremost through all these times I had learned that my sentence- or fate as some would foolishly call it- was escapable neither by natural death nor suicide. All it did was change the cards- nearly the same characters in slightly different contexts and faces. I had still always wondered how many lives others had lived before- or if I was one of the few cursed by a merciless god. I never broached the topic again after enough failures, judgement, persecution, and institutionalizations. Bleak and miserable a world I saw and felt it to be- I never wanted to have to see it through bars again. If I had to be trapped, it would be only by the confines of my mind- as I ever painfully labored to chisel each piece away.
But it was never enough Time to get the lesson done and my pursuers never tired that I should begin all over again each time; with a new puzzle before figuring out the one I had so toiled to understand.